


the scene

by bleebug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kitchen table sex, Pancakes, Smut, whoops i didn't mean to write the thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 15:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: If Snow hadn't interrupted in 6x18. (Kitchen table smut. You know the deal.)





	the scene

“To hell with the pancakes,” is a sentiment that Killian wholeheartedly agrees with. He much prefers the taste of her tongue and the smell of dried sweat and lingering morning sex on her skin to anything else right now. And, it seems, she has nothing on her mind now either, aside from consuming his groans of pleasure and sliding her deft, teasing fingers across the back of his neck, down his shoulders, his chest, his tense abdomen, all the way _there_ , where he is alive and awake and quite ready for another go at it.

He loves kissing her, always has; she’s a hell of a kisser and she knows it. Though he may have a few more centuries of experience, she’s managed to master the art in her short decades on this earth. Push, pull. Tongue, teeth. Wet lips, plush and pliant, with a gentle ease even when forceful and wild. He could drown in her kisses, although he has, in fact, been resuscitated by them once before. (Whatever excuse she’d had about that “CPR” nonsense had been just that: nonsense. It was definitely the press of her lips that saved him, of that he is entirely certain.)

It’s the combination that does him in – her mouth on his and her hands massaging him through the jeans that he wished he hadn’t even bothered putting on this morning. He can’t stand it, is too revved up and desperate for her that he couldn’t care less about anything else.

With practiced grace, he lifts off the table and turns them, switching their positions and smiling against her lips as she takes a seat on the edge of the table. She hums delightedly as his hook tugs on the sash around her waist. It comes free and the robe falls open. He breaks from the kiss only to admire the view.

There’s a long sliver of skin available for his perusal, barely two inches down the middle of her torso. Her breasts are still mostly covered, but her sex is completely on display. The skin there, as well as between her thighs, is still red from his earlier ministrations. His facial hair had scraped against her soft, pale skin while his tongue had been coaxing cries from her throat with every pass, and she had gripped his hair and held him there until she shattered beneath him.

He runs his fingers across the sensitive skin, a light caress that has her lifting her hips to chase his touch.

“Sure you want to? Aren’t you sore?” He asks only out of courtesy. He knows what she will say.

“Yes, I’m sore. Yes, I still want to.”

“I’ll be gentle this time,” he offers.

She drags his lips back down to hers and mumbles against him, “Don’t be.”

She unbuttons his shirt while they kiss, his hook sliding her robe open even more. His fingers toy with the smooth skin just at the juncture of her hip and thigh and she roughly pops the button his jeans in response. Just as he slides his thumb through her folds, a moan rumbling lowly in his chest at the slickness he finds there, she finally frees him from his denim prison.

“Have you been this hard up all morning?” There is amusement in her voice but Killian is more focused on that slightly breathless waver that he knows she tries hard to hide. His thumb circles over a particularly sensitive spot and she gasps aloud.

“Have you been this wet all morning?” he counters, tilting his head so he can run the tip of his nose along her jawline and down her neck. His hips jerk forward when her palm wraps around his length and he knows without even looking that she’s smiling and nibbling on her bottom lip. He loves when she does that. It’s sexy and makes him want to sink his own teeth there just to feel her skin give beneath them.

“Kind of hard not to be when I can feel the beard burn down there every time I take a step.”

“Should I feel the least bit contrite about that?”

He suckes in a breath as she roughly drags her hand up and over his tip, her other winding around his waist beneath his open shirt to tug him closer.

“Only if you leave me hanging.”

“Oh, I’ve no intention of ever doing that, my love.”

“ _Ah_ ,” is the only squeak of a sound she manages to get out before her wrist is roughly dragged away from him and he is sliding himself, hot and heavy, through her slit, the head swiping up over her clit a few times before his hips move back and in one swift motion, he’s pushing inside of her. “ _Oh, god_.”

He releases her wrist and grabs her thigh, yanking it up to his hip. The motion forces her to lean back, her back connecting with the table with an audible thump that nearly knocks the breath out of her. An apology almost escapes his lips for being rough, but he swallows it back as her other leg moves up on its own, both of her heels finding the exposed swell of his backside above where his jeans have been pushed down. The look in her eyes tells him that she rather appreciates this position, and he swivels his hips as he takes her again.

He doesn’t bother going slow. They did that the night before, all soft caresses and wandering lips and a constant, steady writhing that lasted for so long that he had to wonder for a time if they hadn’t physically merged and literally become one person, sensing everything the other was feeling, melting in the way their bodies had molded and given in to each other. It’s making love no matter how they do it; slow and tender, quick and intense. It’s making love even when they’re fucking wildly and passionately and without hesitation on their bloody kitchen table.

It’s always making love when it’s with her.

She lets out some of the most sensual and earth-shattering cries of pleasure at the hastened, thick slide of him against her insides. He grips her hip with both hand and hook and she braces her hands on the edges of the table, shifting her hips to accommodate him, laughing breathlessly when they accidentally knock one of the decorative plates to the floor. Neither of them even falters slightly in their movements at the sound of the shattering porcelain. Killian almost wants to knock another down, because the truth is, he likes that the way they move together make the legs of the table quake just as much as Emma’s legs, the muscles quivering around his hips, so tense that he almost worries she won’t have feeling in them after they finish.

There’s a harsh, painful tug around his neck. It’s the chain of his necklace digging into his skin as she grabs the skull and dagger pendants and yanks hard on them. He has no choice but to lean forward at her will, and the new angle he hits when his lips reach hers again makes her mouth momentarily slacken. He uses this opportunity to swipe his tongue into her open mouth, glad to taste her once more, and he can feel her ankles lock around his lower back as the thrusting becomes a dirty grind.

He can feel her clenching, her nails digging into his biceps, the sharp hiss of breath, and knows she’s just on the edge. It takes nothing for him to work himself there with her, and his lips are open wide and sucking harshly against the quickened pulse at her neck when she comes, her whole body shuddering, her teeth biting shallowly against his shoulder, her hips jerking up several times in quick succession as he fucks her through it. She’s still coming when he does seconds later, all of his muscles going taut like a bowstring stretched too tight and just barely maintaining its shape before the tension becomes too much and it just snaps.

It’s overwhelmingly hot and humid in the air around them. He doesn’t remember how breathing ever came easy as he gasps and chokes on air now, his head feeling light and airy, his vision dotted with wavy specks of light. Emma’s hands soothingly rub over his back and shoulders, eventually making their way to his scalp and massaging at the base of his skull as he comes down.

“That's…” she begins to say. He patiently waits for her to finish, or not, and just nuzzles against her neck. “The couch. The stairs. The back porch. Both bathrooms. Our bed, of course. And now the kitchen table.”

He chuckles breathlessly against her collarbone.

“Keeping track, are we?”

“It’s a big house, Killian. There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

When he finally manages to detach himself from her, wiping the sweat from his forehead up into his mess of hair and stepping back just far enough to pull his pants back up, he can only smile at the pink flush to her skin and the sated, teasing smile on her face.

He helps her sit up, giving her a moment to rewrap the robe around her and not saying anything of the moist spot against the black fabric that had been right beneath their intimates. She stays seated and draws him back between her open thighs and kisses him once, twice, three times, sighing pleasantly.

“Aye, I suppose you’re right,” he finally agrees, bumping his forehead down to hers. “We’ve got time to get around to the rest of it. I promise.”

She agrees with a sleepy hum and he admires the happy twinkling in her eyes. It makes him giddy to think that sometime soon he will be her husband and they will be one step further in their happily ever afters.

“You know, love,” he murmurs, ”I do believe I’ll be needing another shower this morning.”

“I need to take one, too.”

“It’d be a waste of water, don’t you think, if we washed separately?”

“Mm. I do like conservation.”

He presses a kiss to her cheek and maneuvers her up off the table and into his arms, bridal-style – _bridal_ , like the way she may let him carry her over the threshold after they marry, if she is inclined to let him be a little traditional.

He thinks about that while he carries her up the stairs. He thinks about that as the water warms. He thinks about that as she massages shampoo into his hair, and as he rubs her down with the red loofa hanging from a hook on the shower stall, and as she presses him against the wall. He thinks about it as he drops to his knees beneath the raining jets of water and as he drags one of her knees over his shoulder. He thinks about it as she pushes him down in the tub and straddles his hips and takes him to the brink for the umpteenth time since he asked her to be his wife and she said, “ _Yes_.” He thinks about it because she says it again over and over, and he can’t wait to hear when she says, “ _I do_.”


End file.
